As of today (well, the few minutes that are left of today), it's been a month since my Grandmother died. That little anniversary has apparently been accompanied by a gigantic case of writer's block.

I can pretty much sum up how I feel about it like this: I don't remember what her voice sounded like. That's going to haunt me, I think. It's understandable--I haven't heard her voice doing anything but coughing or wheezing in over six years--but it disturbs me nonetheless.

I'll stop drifting aimlessly any day now, I swear.